Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Latter-day Traffic Jam
I also think it’s amazing cause everything I do is amazing. I’m even considering opening up a small little online shop and selling the prints so that you can showcase my work in your living room or office. Even better than your office or living room would be your bedroom and that way you could wake up every morning to my work.
Considering the moment of beauty I captured for all eternity it may astonish you to know that I was actually really pissed when I took the shot. At the time, I didn’t notice the American made Ford truck in front of me or the crisp blue sky. I didn’t see the railroad crossing that would take me back to a simpler and kinder time. I didn’t even notice the perfectly landscaped grass or trees. The only thing I saw were TWO FUCKING MORMONS IN SUITS RIDDING BIKES IN HOT PURSUIT OF THEIR NEXT CONVERSION, AND IT MADE WE WANT TO RUN THEM OFF THE ROAD.
I don’t have anything against Mormons. I like Steve Young. He was a good football player. I like Marie Osmond. She’s a milf. I wasn’t even mad at the fact that they were on their way to my house so they could knock on my door and try to persuade me to give up coffee. Nope. I was mad because I could only go five miles an hour and I wanted to get home. MOTHERFUCKING MUTTS!
Once I cleared the celestial cyclists and was back up to 45 miles an hour I was over it. Later in the day I downloaded the picture to my computer and zoomed in on the Mormon in front of the truck. A strange thing happened to me while I was trying to focus in on the blurred Latter-day Saint… seeing those Mormons on a back road in Louisville, Kentucky kind of put shit in to perspective for me. Everywhere I’ve lived I’ve seen FUCKING MORMONS IN SUITS RIDDING BIKES IN HOT PURSUIT OF THEIR NEXT CONVERSION, and it felt familiar and comfortable.
So thanks my friends, and I’m sorry that I got mad and wanted to run the both of you off the road. Too bad I don’t have a way to get in touch with you guys or I would invite both of you in for some water and a crack at my soul.
I guess I could always call HQ in Salt Lake City and find out which two suits were dispatched to the old country road in Louisville, KY that I was driving on the day that I took the picture, but once you bastards get a hold of a persons phone number you make a call from a harassing creditor feel like a courtesy wake up call at the Holiday Inn.